Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 66652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Her mouth was parted, and there was drool coming out of the corner of her mouth.
To say that she was a cute sleeper would be a lie.
And she snored.
Quite loudly.
As in, at a few points in the night, I woke up and wondered if she might need to get checked for sleep apnea or an airway obstruction.
But I’d been so tired that I’d rolled back over and went back to sleep.
Sadly, after my alarm continued to go off for another minute—with the woman at my side not even flinching, which had me thinking it was no surprise that she didn’t hear the damn husky fake dying outside at all hours of the day—I had no other choice but to reach for my phone.
Oh, and get up.
Because I had a fuckin’ surgery today.
Actually, that was a lie.
I had four surgeries today, and those were just the planned ones.
The very last thing in the world that I wanted to do today was go to work.
My hand fucking throbbed. My side hurt like a motherfucker, and there was a very warm body still cuddled up next to me in my bed that I didn’t want to leave.
Yet, I didn’t have a choice.
Reaching over, I switched off my alarm that woke me up at three forty-five in the morning and then groaned as I threw my arm over my eyes.
“Get up or you’ll be late,” she grumbled.
So she had been awake. She’d just been faking sleeping.
Typical.
“You get up,” I countered.
She moved off of me, but only enough to roll over, bring the covers up higher over her naked body, and then shove her face back into my pillow.
“Rude,” I whined as I got out of bed. But not before I yanked the covers off of her and threw them to the floor.
“You are such an asshole,” she hissed as she curled up into a ball, but otherwise didn’t move.
“And you snore like a freight train,” I told her. “You should really go to the doctors and get that checked out. There were a few times that I considered propping you up on a pillow.”
“I don’t snore,” she groused, head buried in my pillow now.
I didn’t bother to argue with her, mostly because she was right. I was going to be late.
And surgeons didn’t get to be late.
Well, they did. But it wasn’t encouraged.
Heading to the bathroom, I did a quick wash of my face, my newly acquired scrapes and cuts, and my hands. Applied deodorant, brushed my teeth, and then took a piss that felt like heaven to my screaming bladder.
Luckily, my entire morning routine took all of ten minutes, but most of that was trying to find where I left my shoes.
Once I was dressed, in shoes, and ready to go, I headed back into the bedroom for my watch and keys.
Before I left, I made sure to pick the comforter up off the floor and cover her with it.
She smiled tiredly and said, “I knew you liked me.”
I snorted. “I’m just keeping my dinner warm.”
“You’re disgusting.” She snickered, cracking an eye open to stare at me.
“I’m hard as fuck,” I rumbled as I walked out of the door.
And I was.
My dick looked obscene in the loose scrubs I was wearing, and the last thing I needed to do was walk into that hospital with a noticeable hard-on.
It was hard enough to head in when I couldn’t recognize faces.
It would be worse to walk in and have something else to have to worry about.
Luckily, by the time I’d ridden to work, the hard-on was under control, and my brain was ready for the day.
“Dr. Crow!” a frantic voice called the moment I entered the ER. “Can I get a consult?”
My eyes went to my watch, and I winced. “I have surgery in half an hour.”
“Well, I have a feeling this one is about to be your emergency surgery. Kid, five years old. Has cancer. But we think his appendix is about to burst based on…” The nurse continued to give me the details of the case, and I ended up pushing every one of my surgeries back to perform an appendectomy on a terminal kid with cancer.
By the time I was giving a rundown to the parents an hour later, the memory of his abdomen, riddled with cancer and on the verge of a shutdown, was clogging my throat.
“You’re the biker we saw riding in here?” the mother, Maureen, asked.
I looked from the father, Thom, who’d been asking questions, to the mother.
I nodded. “I am.”
She grinned. “He was all in pain, curled up in a ball, and looked out the window and saw you on your bike. I recognize it was you from the color of your shoes.”
I looked down at my shoes.
Seeing as I was on my feet for sometimes sixteen hours a day, it wasn’t unheard of for me to find the most comfortable pair of shoes I could find. Which today, happened to be red, white, and blue Texas flag Crocs.